Time for the May flowers...

ElanaJ over at Mindless Musings has posted a really fun writing prompt and it was the perfect distraction for us this afternoon. You can read her original post here, but basically you just have to write a short story that features a flower. If you decide to participate post a link in our comment section and we'll send them along to Elana for her to post on her blog at the end of the month.

Here's what we've come up with. I think it actually might turn into the start of our next project. It's an idea that we've been tossing around for a couple months now. Let us know what you think...

I was sheer perfection on stage. I’m not telling you this to show off or to brag, I’m stating it as fact. I was perfection. The bright lights of the packed stadium glinted off my bleach blonde hair. My lithe, teenage body was poured into a pair of leather pants so tight it took two assistants to get me into them and the silver sequins on my halter top flashed like beacons on the stage.

I danced, I sang, and I teased the audience with my come hither looks and lyrics. My body made promises my image would never let me keep. The diamond purity ring sparkled on my left hand, mocking the pubescent boys and their drooling fathers. My fans (primarily girls aged 9 – 12 with parents who had a combined income of over $150,000 according to the marketing geniuses who'd pretty much created me) were screaming louder, crying for more.

“Bingley! Bingley! Bingley!” They chanted. They all wanted a piece of me, but for entirely different reasons.

It was time for my slow song. You know, the one where I croon about still being a girl, about respecting myself enough to wait. If only my adoring little fans knew how many boys I’d seduced to this song. I could tell them stories about the heartthrobs whose posters hung on their walls that would probably put them off men for the rest of their lives. I’ve done things that would make their mothers weep and their older brothers beg for more.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I'm not a slut, really I’m not. But when you’ve spent your life pretending to be the poster girl for teenage abstinence and in reality you’re just a normal teenage girl longing to do all of the stupid things that normal teenagers get to do, you have to have some kind of outlet or you’ll go crazy. Britney crazy. And don’t worry, it's not like I was stupid. All of those crazy things I did were done under the protection of an iron-clad confidentiality agreement. My PR puppet-master made sure of it.

I was finally wrapping up my song and getting ready to take my bow, when I saw him. He was in the front row and had hair that was too long and hung in his eyes. His worn t-shirt was tight in all the right places and he had that goofy Midwestern farm boy look that totally made me crazy. I’ve been with lots of boys all over our beautiful country and I have to tell you that Midwestern farm boys are the best. They’re sweet and kind and they almost always know how to get a pair of skin-tight leather pants off of a pretty pop princess. Amazing how it takes two pairs of hands to get me into the things and only one strong pair to get me out.

I winked at him and gave my sister, who was waiting just off the side of the stage, a discreet nod. I’d found my man. She rolled her eyes at me and waved the pink peony she held in her hands like a white flag. I moved my hand to gesture for her to hurry up. Sometimes the cute ones left before I did my encore.

She disappeared back stage and I knew shortly, she’d emerge into the crowd to present the fat pink flower to my boyfriend du jour.

It was going to be another wild night.